


Paradise by the Dashboard Light

by aflaminghalo



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, PWP, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-26 19:12:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3861433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aflaminghalo/pseuds/aflaminghalo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A natural reaction brought out in an unnatural manner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paradise by the Dashboard Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge 2015, and because I have always wanted to write a sex pollen fic.
> 
> Also, when I write Dick as Robin, I tend to see him as about 16/17. Which is young, but not underage, at least not where I'm writing from. So while these stories are messed up, they're not that messed up.

Dick had never felt the Batmobile the way it was now – how he and Batman were making it feel, he amended. He’d ridden in it in pain, in anticipation, in sorrow. They’d sat in it drinking coffee and eating energy bars. They’d sat in it in silence, and victory and loss. But he’d never, ever, sat in it thinking about how it would feel to rub off against every surface the car contained. He took a deep breath and clutched at the edges of the passenger seat, trying to keep the way he was squeezing his thighs together less obvious. Inside his gloves, his knuckles were turning white, he knew.

He glanced at Batman out of the corner of his eye, trying to be sneaky about it. As the older man shifted gears and guided the Batmobile through Gotham’s crooked streets, he looked just as stone faced, as in control and unperturbed, as ever. To look at him was not to know that Poison Ivy had given them both a face full of foul tasting white stuff not twenty minutes earlier. It made Dick feel even worse, in a way, how his own lack of control seemed to be emphasized by Bruce’s casual mastery over it. The shame of it made his dick throb. He clenched his muscles, trying hard not to cant his hips up into the feeling; and in a moment of insanity he considered asking Bruce if this was going to turn him into a pervert.

“It’s ok, Robin.” Bruce’s voice cracked on the three simple words. “We’ll be back in the cave in a few minutes and…” He broke off to take a heavy breath. “It was just a light dose. It’s ok.”

A passing streetlight lit up the cab of the car, illuminating the exposed portion of Bruce’s face, and Dick could suddenly see the fine sheen of sweat coating his skin. _He’s talking to himself_. And that thought scared him, realizing how Bruce’s control had been stable as long as he’d been focused on driving the Batmobile, but still fragile. And now it was broken…. 

In the silence of the car, underneath their heavy, controlled breathing he could hear himself shifting against the upholstery, the way the material of his costume sounded as he rubbed his legs together, as he tried to move into, and away from, the sensations that were filling him. He could hear another sound now too, lower, less familiar. Bruce’s breathing, he realized. His eyes flashed over to the older man’s groin before he could stop, just in time to see Bruce adjusting himself, trying to use the moving shadows to cover his movements. And the itch that was running through Dick like a trail of ants flared up like an invasion. Dick mashed his hand down against his groin. It was impossible to care any longer that he was sat right next to Bruce, in the Batmobile. All his attention, all the remains of his willpower were focused on just trying to relieve some of the ache that had settled between his legs, trying to reduce the urgent pull in his thighs and his belly, trying not to humiliate himself. Bruce looked over to him again, his face still tight. “Dick?” 

And he realized that he’d gasped, no moaned, too loud in the small space. 

“Just hold on, we’re nearly back at the Cave.” 

“I can’t, it’s too…” 

“You have to, Dick.” Bruce sounded desperate, close to begging. 

It was too late though. As a fresh throb of arousal surged through him, Dick ground his hand down against his crotch. The want in him kept building, doubling itself every time Dick moved into it, impossible to guard against and impossible to not be crushed beneath it. He stroked himself again and again through the thick material of his shorts, using the bite of the fabric to edge him on, to make him gasp and tremble and thrust. 

The car turned so fast that Dick was thrown back against the seat, but now that he’d let himself, even the blunt force of gravity was unable to distract him from his task. He kept kneading, pressing, rolling his hand along the hard length of his dick. Batman sitting next to him, able to see everything he was doing to himself; the Batmobile; his uniform and what he tried to stand for when he wore it – he couldn’t see any of those things now. All that mattered, the only thing that was real to him, was the delicious feel of his hands on himself, and the end he was building himself up to. 

Not until Bruce’s movements next to him worked their way into his consciousness did he realize that the car had stopped.

“What?” It was an effort to notice, to get the words out. 

Bruce didn’t answer, too consumed in fighting against his belt, scrabbling to separate the top half of his suit from the bottom, until his hand was in his pants. Dick could see it, moving beneath the tight, coarse fabric, and then Bruce was groaning too, too loud for the car; a relief so strong it sounded like agony. 

The want in Dick surged up again at the sound of Bruce touching himself in the other seat. He pushed his shorts down, taking himself in both hands. He was in a chase to the finish as his entire body tightened, throbbed, and narrowed into one desperate point. He slid a hand down between his thighs, scraping the sensitive skin with his short nails. He grasped his balls, cupping them in his palm as his fingers stretched behind them tease the sensitive skin that was hidden there. A distant part of him knew that he’d ache from it tomorrow, but everything he needed now was more; more strength, more heat, more grip, more everything. 

He could hear Bruce still working himself. Dick closed his eyes and prayed he wouldn’t look, but the sound was inescapable. He’d never heard Bruce making noises like that before. Logically, he knew Bruce did, but it was another thing entirely to be trapped with the sounds of Bruce pleasuring himself - even if they were as tight and irritated as any other noise Batman ever made. He could hear the wet, slick, slide of Bruce’s hand and the small part of Dick that was still on duty as Robin realized that Bruce had slicked himself with something.

He couldn’t help it. He looked. 

The cowl covered Bruce’s face, and shadow the rest, protecting them both from his expression, but Dick could see his hands as they grasped his cock, now released from the tight confines of his pants. Could see the way his huge blunt fingers wrapped him; could see the tension across his knuckles and in his forearm as he fought to give himself what he needed even as he fought to keep from doing it. Bruce ran the web of his thumb sharply across the head. It made him hiss and press back even further into his seat.

Bruce was cut, Dick realized, his own hand moving without volition to mimic Bruce’s movement. The sensation ran over him like flame and then he was coming. It forced its way out of him like a wave that ran over his body and up through his cock like a blade. The power of it forced him over, bent almost double in his seat. And still he kept stroking; forcing it more and more until he was spent, so weak from it he couldn’t grip himself properly anymore and he slumped back, exhausted and gasping.

He closed his eyes.

The noise of Bruce was still there though; the speed of his hand, the slap of his flesh, the hot pant of his breath. All the sounds made the image in Dick’s mind - Bruce as he worked himself harder and harder and still not able to get over the edge. Had he taken more or less gunk, Dick wondered. Bruce’s sounds were getting more and more into the realm of distress and before he could think about what he was doing, it was done. Dick reached his hand out to dip between Bruce’s legs, and grasped his balls, Dick’s muscle memory ministering to him in the way Dick liked for himself. And then Bruce was coming, tensing like a bowstring under Dick’s hand for what felt like endless minutes.

Dick moved away, wiping Bruce’s wetness in with his own on his tunic. 

They sat in the dark, exhausted and empty. The heavy scent of sex still filled the car. Dick turned the air con on. 

“Bruce, I’m...” 

“Don’t you dare apologize, Dick.” 

“But…” 

“No.” And Bruce was fixing him with a hard look from behind his mask. 

“You’ve done nothing to be sorry for. It was… Ivy. It was a natural reaction brought out in an unnatural manner.” 

Dick nodded, unsure. 

“It’s not your fault.” 

“Ok.” Dicks voice was small in the small space. 

“And next time, we’ll know better.” 

“Next time?” Dick’s voice was still weak. 

“That was her one shot, Dick. Next time, I’ll have something to counter it. That won’t happen again.” 

Dick nodded. "Can I make a crack about the batmobile upholstery?" 

Bruce was silent for a moment and Dick figured he was rolling his eyes to heaven. "Only if you want me to send you in here with a blue light and a bottle of cleaner." He started the ignition.


End file.
